


{ h e a v e n ; }

by WrinkledParchment



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Adorable Connor, Connor Deserves Happiness, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-15 22:50:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17537816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrinkledParchment/pseuds/WrinkledParchment
Summary: “What else would heaven be? Does heaven exist now? Heaven isn’t always in the sky, Connor. Sometimes it’s here on Earth. Heaven can be a place, a thing … Or in the best case scenario, a person.”





	{ h e a v e n ; }

The snow contrasted harshly against Connor’s hair, against his jacket. It melted upon coming into contact with the warm air from your apartment. You gave him a quick hug before asking how work was.

“Gavin was being … inconsiderate, as usual.” You rolled your eyes before settling back down underneath your fuzzy blanket, watching as Connor joined you on the couch.

It was just a few moments of silence as you snuggled up to Connor, allowing your head to rest on his chest. You smiled as you heard his thirium pump beat, circulating his life-force throughout his body. It was a calming sort of feeling.

You felt blissful, at peace. Like you were finally exactly where you belonged, in Connor’s grasp, sitting next to him. Since the beginning of your relationship, the feeling was miniscule, but now, it was suffocating.

You knew just the word for it – Heaven.

“Do you believe in heaven, Connor?” you asked sweetly, leaning your head back a little bit just to see his face. It was calm, you watched as the LED flickered yellow before switching to it’s calm counterpart.

“Androids don’t tend to have a religion, and neither do I. Hence, I do not believe in heaven.”

“So that’s the only heaven you think exists?” you tilted your head, frown present on your face. Connor’s eyes seemed to scan the room, looking everywhere but into yours.

“What else would heaven be?”

. . . . . .

Connor smiled to himself as he watched you adjust your blanche scarf. In contrast, your cheeks and the tip of your nose were rosy, affected by the low temperature. You moved your scarf to sit under your chin, and Connor tilted his head.

“That’s not where you would place a scarf for maximum warmth,” he asserted. You smiled back at him, before sticking your tongue out and lifting your chin up.

You began to jump on your heels, moving your head around wildly as you tried to catch snowflakes. Just as you gave up, one landed right on your tongue, and he laughed to himself as he watched you go cross-eyed trying to look at it.

Albeit the frigid environment, Connor felt a fuzzy, warm feeling grow inside his throat, inside his stomach and surrounding his thirium pump. It was an unusual sort of feeling, one that he had yet to experience until this day. As fresh as it was, as new, it was familiar.

All Connor knew was that he wanted it to last, and he smiled as he realized the source, the cause. You were the one who had gathered your human warmth and fed it to him. You were the reason Connor felt so unmistakably alive, and you were the reason he would keep feeling that way.

“Does heaven exist now?”

. . . . . .

The cerulean color of Connor’s LED was the only source of light in the dark bedroom. It shone on your hair, glowing in the light like bioluminescence in the deep sea. The street lights in the distance continued to flicker against the pitch black night.

He could see the snow falling still, and everything was peaceful. The lights of Detroit slowly dimmed, one by one, and the city began to sleep. Connor looked back down to you, his warmth, his light.

Your body temperature was low, and Connor squeezed your waist harder, shifting his weight and augmenting his heat levels just to accommodate your needs. Your head buried deeper into his chest, and he could feel your exhale against his bare synthetic skin.

The miniscule movement brought the fuzzy feeling front and center in Connor’s systems, and he felt a new one added as well. It felt nauseating, close to anxiety or fear. Perhaps he was scared – scared that one day, you might not be here to love him.

That you’d abandon him, leave him, one way or another. Both were equally terrifying. Not having your love is like being thrown back down to earth from your previous position of floating in the sky. He would crash and burn upon re-entering the atmosphere without you.

He could only explain the feeling in metaphors, describe the physical feelings, but not put a name to it. Connor wondered if you felt the same, and if you had a name for it. Maybe then he could truly understand, but for now, he was only left with questions.

“Heaven isn’t always in the sky, Connor. Sometimes it’s here on Earth.”

. . . . . .

Connor rolled his eyes once again at your antics once again – all you wanted was to make cookies together. It should’ve been a simple task, mix the ingredients, plop them onto a cookie sheet, and stick them into the oven.

You clutched the mixing bowl even closer to your chest with one arm, and with the other, you scooped cookie dough onto your index finger and ate it. Connor let out a deep breath and lunged for you, though you evaded capture yet again.

You let out a close-mouthed giggle as you moved further away from him, smiling mischievously all the while. He pulled a quick one and got to your side. Rather than snatching the bowl away from you, however, you began to feel his fingers brush over your sides.

Laughing raucously, you doubled over but clutched onto the bowl, clawing desperately at his arm with your free one, hoping he would stop. “Surrender, now!” he jokingly threatened, and you wave your hand as a signal.

“If y-you stop,” you wheezed, out of breath as he continued his ‘assault’, “I won’t eat anymore cookie dough.” He finally ceased, and snatched the bowl from your arms, not before giving you a quick kiss on the cheek.

Walking back over to the tray, he finally explained himself, “You were hindering our cookie making progress. Besides, there are raw eggs in this and though salmonella chances are relatively low, I can’t risk it. Not with you.”

You scoff before wandering over to him, and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. He smiled and turned to you before leaning in for a real one. He could taste the sugar on your lips, and he smiled before breaking the kiss and continuing to roll each piece of dough into a ball.

The remnants of your chapstick clung to his lips, and he licked them subconsciously, still feeling the tingle of electricity left over. The feeling was pushed forefront again, and he idly continued his task, still searching for a word.

“Heaven can be a place, a thing …”

. . . . . .

You watched closely as Connor continued to sit in front of the Christmas tree, blocking your entrance so you could open your presents early. You gave him your best set of puppy dog eyes, “Will you please let me open just one?”

He responded with a half-lidded, disappointed stare. “No, absolutely not. You told me yourself that you open Christmas presents only on Christmas morning.”

You let out a deep sigh, before tackling him to the ground – though, your attempt was unsuccessful. He caught your wrists, and you sent you a harsh look. “Will you just be patient?”

“No, absolutely not,” you mocked him, causing him to roll his eyes for the fifth time that night. His LED spun yellow, and he glanced down at the tree, before meeting your gaze once again.

“Fine, since you won’t surrender, I suppose we can open just a few gifts.” You cheered and sat down next to the tree. He considered each present, and handed you a few. After surrounding yourself in torn wrapping paper, you reached for the smallest gift.

His hand, however, caught yours and he took it gently setting it in your hands. Your brows furrowed at the small present, and you lifted your head to look at Connor. His eyes held worry yet love too, and he began to speak.

“Do you remember when you asked me if I believed in heaven?” he questioned. Your confused expression did not falter, but you nodded nevertheless. Connor took in a deep breath and you pursed your lips, prepared for whatever would come after.

“Well, I finally realized that I do, I believe in heaven. I didn’t find it in a place, or an object, like I expected. I didn’t find it in the skies or the beyond either.”

. . . . . .

“… Or in the best case scenario, a person.”

. . . . . .

“You are my heaven, and though I’m a destructive monster who could make the world crumble at my feet, and though I absolutely do not deserve to be in heaven; I wish to stay in it for as long as possible.”

Your smile lifted and you looked back down to the present, watching him gingerly open it for you. Inside was a black velvet box and you did not have to wonder for long what was inside.

Connor popped it open, a gasp escaping your mouth as you looked at the gem. “Would you do me the honour of being my one and only heaven for the rest of our lives?”


End file.
